


Shutter

by yumikou



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, F/M, SO MUCH ANGST LMAO
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 11:37:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6115301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yumikou/pseuds/yumikou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He wishes that he had the courage to do something -- anything; because there’s nothing worse than desperately wanting to do something and not having the courage to do so.  He knows the feeling all too well and it makes him want to wrap his own hands around his throat and squeeze."</p><p>A character study of Adrien through glimpses of the different relationships he's formed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shutter

**Author's Note:**

> I was suddenly overcome with the urge to write about Adrien, and certain relationships that he’s formed with different characters. But then it got way out of hand and turned into this monster of a fic. Oops. I don’t really know what this is anymore. It kinda just wrote itself.
> 
> Here it is, _Shutter_.
> 
> [EDIT: so, with origin episodes coming out, i kinda realized that this fic doesn't follow up w/ canon very well. just a heads up since i suck as a writer lmao]

Adrien doesn’t know if he can really pinpoint the exact moment his mother left.  

After a loud fight with Gabriel, she slams the front doors with such a force that Adrien thinks the hinges must have broke and it vibrates through the walls.

She doesn’t take Adrien with her.

 

 

Eventually, her presence slowly filters out of the house.  Gabriel rids the mansion of the framed family photos (Adrien notes that the only photos that Gabriel really smiles in were the ones with his mother in it), leaving the ghosts of the frames on the walls.  He removes the crepe machine from the kitchen, because she used to make crepes with a chocolate drizzle and strawberries for Gabriel’s birthday.  He re-decorates the entire house, draining it of all color and choosing a hollow grey-and-white color scheme instead.   

Adrien doesn’t realize it until he’s two months in, that it seems like his mother has never even existed in the first place.  And Adrien doesn’t _dare_ bring up his mother ever again.  Because he knows it’s a like sore spot that Gabriel will sometimes graze his rough, calloused fingers over, just to feel the slight tinge of pain.  Because the topic of _Mrs. Agreste_ has become a sore spot for Adrien too. Because Gabriel is a father absent of compassion and Adrien is a son who’s learned to survive without it.  

The mornings and dinners met with his father gradually stop.  He notes that he hasn’t actually had a meal with his father -- in what feels like -- _decades_.  Adrien tells himself that, one day, he’ll get used to making breakfast for one.

 

 

The first time he meets Chloe Bourgeois, she’s dressed in Mary Jane shoes and a dress so stuffy that he admires her for the way she’s able to pull it off so well.  He’s fourteen years old; she doesn’t look much older, given the way she stumbles awkwardly in her three-inch heels like she’s not used to wearing them, but she’s determined to master it nonetheless.

Adrien fumbles with his clip-on tie because it feels a little too tight for his own comfort.  And the last thing he wants to do, is be here, at the benefit; standing stiffly next to his father.  

“Adrien, introduce yourself.”  Gabriel says it so loud that it almost makes Adrien jump back.

So he does, on command.  But he does it hesitantly, holding out his hand to shake Mr. Bourgeois’ like how he’s been taught to do.

Mr. Bourgeois shakes his hand with such vigor that Adrien feels like his arm might just fall off.  “What a polite son you have, Mr. Agreste!”  Andre Bourgeois is the exact opposite of Gabriel Agreste.  Mr. Bourgeois is haughty and he’s loud and he’s anything but calm, but there’s a sort of comforting air to him that Gabriel has never possessed.  Adrien certainly doesn’t like the way Mr. Bourgeois laughs with his whole body and how he talks so loud that it’s almost like he’s doing so purposefully to garner attention; but Adrien thinks that he would prefer to be standing beside Mr. Bourgeois than Gabriel, instead.

Mr. Bourgeois gestures to his daughter, lightly patting her back.  “Mr. Agreste and Mr. Agreste,” he addresses -- Adrien thinks it’s ridiculous that he says _Mr. Agreste_ twice.  “This is my daughter, Ms. Chloe Bourgeois.”  Chloe has her hands clasped tightly behind her back as she puffs her chest forward.  “Chloe owns pictures of _all_ of your shoots, Mr. Agreste.” Mr. Bourgeois grins, and then eyes Adrien.  “Especially of the ones that feature your son.”  

Chloe’s smile matches her father.  “Of course, I do!”  She beams at Mr. Agreste, and Adrien can’t help but feel as if something’s _off_ , like she’s trying to garner all of Gabriel’s attention and keep it to herself.  He doesn’t like her already.  

“Adrien --” she pauses as she breaks her stare at Gabriel and turns to Adrien.  “Adrien _certainly_ has a lot of talent and potential.”  Her smile isn’t a nice one, but it isn’t a rude one either.  Proud.  Proud seems more like it.

“Thank you,” Adrien replies with a light smile.

He thinks that it’s funny to see Gabriel interact with a character who doesn’t match his own.  Mr. Bourgeois’ vibrancy contrasts with Gabriel’s collectiveness so harshly that it’s almost painful for Adrien to watch.  He can tell that Gabriel is beginning to get annoyed by the way his hand tightens around Adrien’s right shoulder.  

Adrien spends the rest of the night stepping cautiously around Gabriel.

 

 

Adrien meets Nino through proximity.  Nino has been in at least one of all of his classes ever since the second-grade, it was only natural that they became friends.

So when Nino texts him on the first day of class asking him _where the hell are u. ur gonna be late for class_ , Adrien grins and eagerly types out his response.  

 _Woke up late_ , is all Adrien replies.  He doesn’t tell Nino about how he ate breakfast alone again;  doesn’t tell Nino that he stood outside of Gabriel’s office for more than twenty minutes, contemplating on whether or not to announce to Garbiel that it’s Adrien’s first day of high school.

And Adrien thinks that he should have gotten used to it by now; the feeling of solidarity that seems to echo around the house, the breakfasts and lunches and dinners spent eating alone, going to his own piano recitals by himself.  But he isn’t.  Adrien is afraid that he never will be.  

 

 

The day he meets Marinette is the same day he meets Ladybug.

He soon figures out that there’s nothing more liberating than having a mask to hide behind.  He starts using pet-names to address Ladybug because, as Chat Noir, he can be as smooth (or so he likes to thinks) as he wants.  And to makes matters even worse, Ladybug even starts to _encourage_ his use of “my lady” and “princess”.  But it only makes him love it more, only makes him love _her_ more.

And when she suddenly decides to use pet-names on _him_ , he starts to feels like a telephone wire lit up with a thousand calls.  And her voice is on the other end, dripped in honey and sparked in static.  The occasion turns everything he knows -- everything he’s ever let himself know -- upside down, comes crashing through everything and leaves a bloody mess and he thinks he must be a masochist because, _god_ , he can’t get enough of her.

Adrien has always felt a sort of emptying loneliness that he could never quite quantify.  But with her, with everything that she is, his life no longer feels like the space between “I’m sorry” and “goodbye”.  She’s the last falling star in the middle of a dark sky and he uses all his wishes on her.  She’s everything he could ever want, and everything he could ever imagine having.

She has a way of making him go soft in ways that he hates to admit.

 

 

"So, kitty,” Ladybug begins, lightly patting her way towards where he’s sitting, atop of a roof.  “What do you think we’ll have to deal with today?  An unaccomplished college student?  A bitter old soccer mom?  A rejected love-struck boy?”  She asks, playfully.  She places her hands on her hips, surveying the sight before her.

“Who knows?”  Chat Noir continues, peering up from where he sits to where she stands.  “Maybe today’s the day where _I_ get akumatized and _you_ have to snap me out of it, my lady.”

“It’s a shame you don’t remember, because _that_ has already happened, kitty,” Ladybug grins at him, as if she’s holding vital, life-changing information and suddenly Chat is desperate to know.  “It even ended in a kiss.”  

What? _What?_

He’s taken back for a moment, but then quickly masks it with an melodramatic gasp, as if the world is about to end and it’s all because Ladybug has never told him that they’ve _kissed_.  “And you’ve never told me about this?  My lady, I’m afraid I want to work alone now.”  He flamboyantly raises the back of hand to his forehead and closes his eyes.  “I could never work with a partner who withholds such juicy information like that!” He slightly opens one eye slightly to look at her, and grins once he sees her let out a small laugh.  

“Of course, kitty!  I understand,” she plays along.  “But, I guess that ruins the chance of us ever kissing ever again.”

What she says makes his breath hitch.  And he wonders, _how does she do it?_  Tears down all of his walls and leaves him more and more hopelessly in love with her.  He stares at her with his mouth agape, and it makes her laugh in response.  He can’t seem to gather up the words to counter to her teasing remark.  

By the time he _can_ muster up a response, Ladybug has already unwinded her yo-yo to flutter out of his reach.

  


When Adrien thinks of his father, he remembers the indents of his knuckles, sharpened against his shoulder blade so quick that Adrien can still draw out the bruise it left.  He thinks of all the lunches spent alone and the empty presents and the award ceremonies that Gabriel never came to.  And he thinks of the lies Gabriel has told him; like _abandonment is the worst thing you can feel_ , and _I’ll see you at dinner_ , and _I’ll be there_.  

  


The only time Adrien really sees Gabriel anymore is at events; be it fashion shows or another benefit or another charity event.  This time, it’s the overly-advertised Paris Fashion Week.  The theme is a hackneyed black-and-white-only event.  

And even though they ride in the same car, Gabriel keeps his eyes focus on his tablet and Adrien is staring beyond the glass plane of the window.  The quiet runs its cold fingers down Adrien’s arms and hollows out his stomach.  He wonders if Gabriel feels it too, feels the tension that seems to silence them both.

So when they _finally_ get to the event, it’s a relief for Adrien to be able to step out of the stuffy car.  He’s greeted by photographers who are desperate to flash a photo of “The Future Mr. Agreste,” and Adrien graciously allows them.

Adrien has never been the one to like events like this, there’s always too many people that occupy every possible square inch of the floor, and it makes him gravitate more towards the walls of the room instead of the middle.

He guesses it’s inevitable that he’s greeted by Chloe, who waltzes her way over to him.  Her father _i_ _s_ the mayor, after all.  Of course they would be here.

“Just because the theme is black and white, doesn’t mean I can’t wear another color.  Right, Adrien?”  She starts, twirling her yellow dress in front of him.  And although she is in clear violation of the rules, Adrien can’t deny that she looks better-dressed than some of the other teenagers here.  Yellow has always been her color, bright and harsh and flashy.  It makes sense.  

“It looks good on you.”  He isn’t lying.

She seems genuinely pleased by his response, as if she put on the dress specifically for him to compliment her on it.  “I _know_ , right?”  She places both hands on her hips and leans forward.    
“I mean, it _is_ from your father’s line of dresses.   _And_ , I’m the one who’s wearing it.”  Chloe gives a nonchalant wave of her hand.  “ _Of course_ it looks good.”

“And, y’know.  Sabrina saw the dress first,” Chloe states.  And Adrien doesn’t know _why_ ; why she’s bringing up Sabrina in this conversation, why she’s bringing her up even when they weren’t talking about her to begin with.  Chloe has always been the one to gossip, even about her best (and only) friend; but it still annoys Adrien more than he likes to think it does.

“What about it?” Adrien asks, trying to look as if he’s uninterested.

“She wanted to wear it to her mom’s birthday party, that’s, like, this weekend, or something,” Chloe scoffs and rolls her eyes.  “But, it just didn’t make any sense!  A silly little birthday party isn’t as important as an event like this.  So I made her return it and buy _me_ it, instead.  But in a smaller size, of course.”

“Why?” Adrien gives her a look that’s somewhere between anger and confusion.

“Why?” Chloe echos him, unsure of why he’s asking since she _just_  told him.  “What do you -- well, it doesn’t matter.  What matters is that _I’m here_ , and so are _you_.”  

“No, _why_ ?” Adrien asks again.  “ _Why_ do you have to be so mean to her?  To everyone?”  He doesn’t understand, what exactly made Chloe the way she is; why she has no regard for anyone else but herself, why she’s similar to Adrien -- in a sense that she was raised in the absence of her mother -- and yet she’s also so vastly different from Adrien.  If the circumstances were different, would Adrien have turned out like that too?

Chloe steps back in shock.  “What?”

“I just … I don’t understand,” he starts.  “You … you don’t have a mom.  I don’t either,” his voice falters for a moment, but there’s a deepening strength in it.  “And yet, you’re so rude to _everyone_!  Even Sabrina, who’s your best friend.”

Chloe opens her mouth, as if she wants to say something, anything.  But she doesn’t.  

“You don’t get to be rude to everyone just because you _can_.  It doesn’t work like that.  And it never will,” Adrien looks at Chloe and her expression is one that shocks him; her eyes are slightly watering, but she blinks them away in an instant; her mouth is parted slightly as if she’s ready to scream at him.  

“It’s … it’s not like that,” she says unsteadily.  And Adrien thinks he’s finally seen one moment of pure vulnerability from the infamous Chloe Bourgeois.  He’s known her for almost two years and she’s always been loud and offensive but never once has she ever been vulnerable.  But because Chloe’s _Chloe_ , it fades quickly.  “How rude!”  She purses her lips, tips her chin upwards, and crosses her arms.  And just like that, the moment is gone.  Because Chloe Bourgeois wouldn’t be Chloe Bourgeois if she isn’t rude and impudent.  “You can talk to me when you can apologize for being such a jerk.”

She turns and stomps away, her heels loud, cacophonous, clanks against the white of the tiles, and her hands balled until they bleed white at the sides of her dress.

Adrien is thankful when she leaves.

  


“Chat, where do you think we’ll be in the future?”  Ladybug asks, unprompted.  “Do you think we’ll still be ‘Ladybug and Chat Noir,’ ten years down the road?”  

 _Ladybug and Chat Noir._  Not just  _Ladybug_ ; not just  _Chat Noir_.  The phrase makes Chat's hands freeze and his chest warm.  "I hope so, princess."  He glances up at her from where he's sitting.  "Maybe, you’ll even be _Mrs_. Chat Noir, by then,” he grins widely at her, and she laughs lightly in response.  “And we’ll make cherry pies because it’s your favorite; and macaroons with coffee fillings because it’s my favorite,” Chat beams at her.

“In your dreams, silly kitty,” she pauses to tickle the underside of his chin.  She says it teasingly, but she’s right.  She’s all he can ever dream of, even on the bad nights.  He dreams of the way she gazes at him;  her eyes an ocean he’s desperate to drown in.  He dreams of the way she touches him, lingering fingertips pressed against his shoulder blade; replacing the bruise that once resided there.  He dreams of the way she laughs the words “kitty” and sighs his name; it leaves him nostalgic and wanting and all he misses is _her_.  Ladybug, herself, is entirely a dream he can never wake himself up from.  He doesn’t want to.

“Oh?” he challenges.  “And how do you know that?  Maybe, by then, we might even have kids.”  He isn’t discouraged, at all.  In fact, Chat thinks he comes out sounding more confident than he leads on.

“Because I want to go to Florence.”

The way she says it is so void of emotion that Chat thinks that it’s the _way_ she said it, and not _what_ she said, that makes him feel like a knife has been driven straight through his gut.

He looks away from her, scared that she’ll be able to see the disappointment hidden behind his sea-green eyes.  “Oh,” is all he can manage to say.

“Not now.  Just … eventually.  I don’t really have it all planned out, yet.”

“Why Florence?”  He tries to sound like he isn’t affected _at all_ by this sudden confession.  It doesn’t work.

“Florence is the ‘Fashion Capital’.  Every designer’s dream, I guess.  Something like that,” she lets out a small laugh, like she isn’t really sure where she’s headed anymore.

And suddenly Chat is pushed back into reality again, tied to the ground so forcefully that he can barely breathe.  Her dream is Florence. _Her dream isn't him._ So then, _why_ are they even having this conversation?

Chat wants to say _let me follow you, I’ll go wherever you go, anywhere, everywhere_ , and _please stay with me_ , and _please don’t leave_.  

Instead, he says, “Sounds like a nice dream.”  His eyes don’t meet hers for the rest of the night.

  


_are u up?_ is the first thing Adrien hears in the morning.  He groans as he pushes himself up to respond to the ringing of a text.  It’s Nino.

_i am now. what’s up?_

Adrien waits for his response, staring at the three dots contained in a bubble that symbolize Nino’s typing.  The first thing that comes to his mind is that he’s hungry, and remembers that all he really ate from his dinner last night was a raspberry tart that he sneaked into his house from Marinette’s bakery.  He thinks of Marinette, and he thinks about how good that raspberry tart was.  He thinks he wants another one.

_basketball? today, 1 pm?_

The message is really all Nino needs to send before Adrien starts to get excited.  There’s something relieving about tossing around a ball.  

_sounds good, don’t forget the actual basketball this time_

_shut up_

_you sure? i don’t want to play basketball without the actual ball again_

_stfu. i’ll be there in ten_

 

When Nino says, _i’ll be there in ten_ , what he really means is, “I’ll be there in ten minutes after a twenty-minute shower and after I spent another thirty minutes trying to find some money that I lost in the mess that is my backpack.”  Adrien figures he has about an hour to get ready, maybe even an hour-and-a-half if he’s lucky.

Adrien finds himself hesitating at the foot of Gabriel’s door, debating whether or not to tell Gabriel that he’s going out with a friend.  He pushes the door open, anyways, but does so lightly.

“I’m hanging out with a friend today,” Adrien says, steadily.

“Isn’t it Sunday?  I thought you had a shoot today.” Gabriel states, still facing the dimness coming from his desktop.  He pauses to glance at a paper placed neatly beside his mouse, a paper that contains Adrien’s full and detailed schedule, a paper that Gabriel has typed out on that same keyboard.  “I don’t want to re-schedule, it’s a hassle.”  Gabriel turns back to his screen, the light coming from the desktop reflecting in his thin lens.  Adrien can’t see Gabriel’s eyes past the reflecting light and makes Adrien feel unsafe, for some odd reason.  Adrien is used to this feeling.

“The photographer never comes.  Last time, I just sat there for the whole two-hours doing nothing.  It’s pointless,” Adrien tries to reason with Gabriel, but is met with a loud sigh.  

“Then you sit there and _wait_ for the photographer to arrive.  It’s impolite of you to simply ditch at the last minute, unannounced.”  Gabriel is all about succinct images and perfect appearances.  

But the photographer is a drunk who Adrien knows all too well.  She’s only shown up for his shoots _once_ out of the five times they were scheduled.  And that time, she ended the shoot by throwing up after a hearty cup of coffee.  She’s irresponsible, but it gives Adrien an excuse.  

Adrien isn’t a child anymore, much less a petulant one.  Adrien knows that _no means no_ .  And he wishes it didn’t bother him as much as it does.  He wishes he didn’t feel the urge to defend himself, because, _for god’s sake_ , it was one photoshoot with a photographer who drinks away her career.  He wishes that he had the courage to do _something_ \-- anything; because there’s nothing worse than desperately wanting to do something and not having the courage to do so.  He knows the feeling all too well and it makes him want to wrap his own hands around his throat and squeeze.

“Forget it,” Adrien mutters, mollified.  

  


Later, Nino texts him, _that’s it? ur just not gonna come? wtf_

_well you know how my dad is_

And Nino _does_ , in fact, know how negligent Gabriel is, but he has never really felt like he’s ever been able to say something about it.  Adrien understands, he thinks that if he were in Nino’s shoes, Adrien would probably be as stuck as Nino is.

_sorry_

_don’t worry about it_

  


Sometimes, when nights turn bad unexpectedly, Adrien hides behind Chat Noir; because it’s easier with the mask on.  And he thinks he could really go for a raspberry tart right now, maybe even picking up an entire wheel of cheese for Plagg ( _because why not_ , is Adrien’s reasoning).  

So the notion leaves him on the rim of Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s balcony, his legs swung over the metal haphazardly.  He can hear the swish of a door behind him.

“Playing dress up again, Chat Noir?”  Marinette asks; Chat thinks that there’s a slight pang of familiarity to the way she says his alias, but he doesn’t dwell on it.  She’s holding the door open by leaning on it, then steps forward as the door behind her closes itself.  

“A friend told me you had _cat_ -tastic desserts.  Said you have absolutely _paw_ -some raspberry tarts,” he turns so that he’s facing her, and then shoves himself off of the rail lightly.  “I was wondering if I could swipe some.”  He turns his head so he’s facing the luminosity of the moon and the stars that kiss it.

She laughs in a way that makes him break away from the sky for just a moment, because the way it rings gives him the same feeling as when Ladybug laughs.  And it’s almost the _same_ , somehow.  Chat wonders _how_ ; Marinette is many things but she cannot be Ladybug.  It would have been _too_ easy, _too_ convenient for him.  Things have never worked out that smoothly.  Ever.

And yet, there’s a slight jolt that burns holes in the bottom of his chest; because _what if_.  Maybe -- just maybe -- it could really be that easy.

He thinks that it’s going to be his downfall.  He wonders why he keeps trying.

“Well, if _you_ promise to stay here, _I_ promise to sneak you one,” she smiles at him, and it’s playful and it’s teasing and it’s almost … challenging.  She reminds him of someone he knows.  

When she comes back, she manages to bring him not only a raspberry tart, but also an eclair.  “We had extra,” is all she says when she hands him both pastries.

“I didn’t ask for this.”  Chat accepts the dessert anyways.  “What’s inside it?” He asks, holding up to the eclair to his eyes.

“It’s coffee.  A coffee-filling.  You seemed like a coffee-cat, for some reason,” she smiles at the nickname.  “Coffee-cat,” she leans her palms on the railing behind them.  “It fits you.”  

He wonders if she knew that coffee-fillings is his favorite, or if it’s simply a coincidence.  He wonders if she knows because he told Ladybug. He wonders if she knows because she _is_ Ladybug.  

But he figures it’s just a lucky guess, because _it can’t be_ _her_.  It can’t be that easy, not for him.

“So what did I do to be blessed by the presence of the infamous Chat Noir?” she asks teasingly, leaning closer to exchanging glances with him.

There’s a slight pause between them, and Chat realizes something he’s never really seen in Marinette before: the iridescence of her eyes.  The way different shades of blue seem to dance in-between each other.  How there’s the color of the ocean right before the sun rises and the color of the ocean right before the sun sets.  How there’s the shade of blue that is the same color of the sky he once glanced at, back when afternoon lunch meant Mr. Agreste, Mrs. Agreste, _and_ Adrien out on their porch.  How there’s a tint of the same blue-ness that he’s seen in Ladybug’s eyes.

Before the silence becomes too long, Chat quickly musters up, “infamous?  I think you mean, _famous_ .  And it wasn’t because of _you_ , if that’s what you think.  You just happen to have really, really good food” A defensive tone lingers in his voice but it quickly disappears.

And something tells him that it _is_ because of Marinette, because she lives here and somehow he finds a strange solace in coming uninvited on her balcony; as if her tiny balcony feels more welcoming than the entirety of the Agreste mansion.  Something tells him that she feels a little too familiar to _just_ be a classmate who sits behind him in class, to _just_ be the daughter of two bakers.  Something tells him that she’s _more_ than that.  

Suddenly everything feels _heavy_.  He doesn’t know if Marinette can feel it, can feel how it clings to him and makes his head hurt.  Chat quickly mumbles a quiet “thanks,” and jumps off of her balcony before she can respond.  He wants her to call out for him, ask him to come back, even though it would be a bad idea; but she doesn’t and lets him disappear beneath her balcony.

That’s worse, somehow.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'll be honest. I don't know how well this fic is gonna do. I didn't have any real direction with this fic, I just really wanted to explore Adrien as a character. My intent was to make Adrien feel like a human, and not like a character -- if that makes any sense. And I don't know how well I accomplished that, or if I even did at all. Either way, I had fun writing this. 
> 
> If you want, visit my [tumblr](http://yumikou.tumblr.com/) or my [writing blog](http://yumi-writes.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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